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I hadn’t paid much attention to the jester in the treehouse colony. Now I couldn’t imagine overlooking him. This man of two-and-thirty didn’t gain attention, he glamoured it. With a snap of his fingers, he could probably seduce the chandelier.

He, too, wore the same scarlet ribbon around his wrist. Just like Briar and Nicu.

An expression of love and unity, maybe?

Behind the trio, an elderly ferret curled on the dais. It had to be the pet Nicu had once talked about, the critter sidekick named Tumble.

Also on the dais, two chairs flanked a single throne.

The throne room. The occupied throne room.

A few people dressed in the clothes of dignitaries or maybe advisors.

Lyrik, a mask of irritation. Nicu, a blush of remorse.

Punk, watching from a bough outside the window, barricaded by glass.

Aire...Aire. He was a cloaked bird of prey, the wing span of his arms crossed, his wedding ring glinting.

But...but where...where was...

“Aspen!” a voice cried as the doors flung open once more.

I spun on my knees—“Mother!”—and launched to my feet. Unfortunately, with the irons weighing me down that was about as far as I could get; my mother, on the other hand, crashed into me. She slung her arms around my middle, clutching tightly while I ducked my head into her neck, smelling fresh wood, varnish, and pumpernickel bread. The scents of home. Of her.

She pulled back, checking me from head to toe, processing the sight of my flesh. I thought she’d be relieved, but her reaction bordered on horrified.

“What happened to you?” she gasped, just as hands tugged us apart.

“Wait,” we both shouted.

“She’s my—,” I began.

“—my daughter,” she said.

My daughter.

That shock of words sent a fissure through me, cabinets and lids flying open, objects of memory spilling out, all the times she’d called me her timber girl. All the times I’d wanted to hear something else.

They pulled her to the side. Maybe it was shock that lifted the veil for this brief moment. Maybe it was my flesh.

But no. No, her lucid face reached out to me. She might see the trees as vengeful monsters, and she might not know them for what they truly were, but shesawandknewme. She’d never hurt me, woodskin or not.

It reassembled something in me, putting me back together. While they hustled me back, I smiled at her, then stood before the queen on steady limbs. I might not have Aire, but I had Mother and Punk and Nicu. And judging from the nod of his scruffy head, I had Lyrik, too.

The Queen of Autumn’s serene features stared at me. Back when I’d presented the acorn case to her, I’d been hooded and wearing gloves, claiming shame over a skin deformity, when I’d really just thought to prevent her from recognizing me later, in case I had to flee. Even though she’d known Mother and could have asked for a description of me, even though it would have done little to ensure I went unspotted, I’d taken the precaution anyway.

“You’re the one who delivered the case to me,” she said.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I answered.

“I see that you suffer no skin defect, after all.”

“I used to. It got better.”

Had it? Had it gotten better? If my nose could have grown from this reply, would it have?

The Queen cast me a dubious look. “I shall let the topic sit for now. As for that display a moment go, it’s evident that you and your mother love each other very much.”